The Hummingbird's Daughter_ A Novel - Luis Alberto Urrea [167]
He hugged Juan Francisco.
“Where is she?” Tomás called.
Gaby said, “She is upstairs, mi amor.”
“Where?”
“In our room.”
Segundo stepped forward.
“Don’t be angry at her,” he said.
Tomás reached out and pulled Segundo’s revolver from his holster. This was the final proof to Segundo that he was too old to do anyone any good—the boss was able to steal his pistola!
“Wait!” Segundo said.
Tomás stomped up the stairs. He pounded on his own bedroom door.
“Go away!” Teresita yelled.
He threw the door open and stepped inside. “You and your idiotic dramas!” he shouted. “Get out of the bed and face me!”
“Father?”
“No more ridiculous little-girl scenes!” he roared. “The real world is here, now! The real world! Do you understand me?”
“What? What? I don’t understand!”
“It ends now.”
“What?”
“They came, do you know that? Did you even know that? They were here!”
“Who?”
“You mean angels didn’t tell you? They killed one of your followers! They beat one of your pilgrims and took him away to hang him! Who? You ask me who?” he shouted.
He was insane with panic and rage. He grabbed her hair.
“Stop. This. Now!”
“I cannot!”
“You will. You will. By God you will, or we will all die.”
She sobbed. “Father! You’re hurting me!”
Teresita sank to the floor.
Tomás suddenly realized the gun was in his hand, as if it were put there in a dream. And, as if in a dream, he raised it slowly and looked at it. He pulled back the hammer and listened to it cock.
“The army,” he said, almost whispering now. “The army. They almost killed Juan. They drew guns on me. On my own front steps! They gave us fair warning, Teresita. They will kill us all. Kill your followers.”
He bent down to her.
“They shot a man in the back. And do you know what? I think they did it to make a point. I don’t think he was a rebel or a bandit. They just picked anyone to die so I would understand. These are the enemies we are facing.”
“Father, father!” She wept.
“I am so sick of it,” he spit. “The Saint of Cabora!”
“We need to pray.”
“Prayers are bullshit.”
“We have to rely on the Lord.”
“The Lord doesn’t care.”
“Pray with me!”
“Prayers do not stop bullets. Prayers are nothing.”
He put the gun to her head.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
“I am stopping this now.”
“No!”
“If I do not stop you, everything is lost. You’ve pushed me to this! You and your insane pride!”
She covered her eyes. He yanked her hair with his free hand.
“I have to do this,” he said, his voice shivering in his throat.
Suddenly, he let go of her hair, spun, and shot a hole in the wall. Below, all was screaming and terror in the house. Tomás threw the gun against the wall and fell to his knees before her. He put his arms around his daughter. She clutched him. Together, they sobbed.
“Please,” Tomás cried, “please, please, help me. Stop this. Please, Teresa, please . . .”
Segundo cautiously stepped into the room.
“Oh Jesus!” he said. “I thought you’d killed her.”
He backed out of the room and closed the door.
He stood guard outside it until they were done crying, and when Tomás came back out, he remained silent.
“Watch her, would you?” Tomás said.
“I always have.”
Tomás looked in his eyes—his own eyes were red and tormented as if coals had been placed inside them. He reached out and laid his hand on Segundo’s arm.
“What now, boss?” Segundo asked.
“The end,” Tomás replied. He buttoned his jacket and squared his shoulders. “The end of everything,” he said. And slowly went downstairs.
Supper was almost ready when the first bullet came through the window.
They all fell to the floor, hiding under the table. Segundo was already running for the door, his revolver in his hand. Tomás, alone, sat upright at the table, lit by a silver candelabra squirming with candle flame as he smoked. The second shot exploded through the wood of the window frame, showering the room with splinters. The family yelped. The cooks screamed as they crawled on the floor.
Tomás drained his glass of vino. He poured himself